She almost smiled then. “Lots of those the past few years.” She was referring to the fact that three of Ty’s sisters had gotten married, one each year, starting with Lauren. The fourth was getting married soon.
“I wasn’t sure at the time. Mark just looked vaguely familiar. It was after closing that I figured out where I’d seen him before. I asked Ty to look. He was not happy.”
“I guess not.” She fingered the envelope. “Why are you the one telling me and not him?”
“Because I offered to be the bearer of bad news. I feel kind of responsible because I spotted him.” He shrugged, unable to fully explain his impulse. “And I thought it might be better to hear from a friend.”
“Is that what we are?”
“We can be.”
“You didn’t bring me this in order to hit on me, did you?”
Her voice was sharp but Kyle knew her well enough to realize her anger wasn’t really directed at him. “No. I thought you might want to talk about it, maybe in a way you can’t talk to Ty. I knew you wouldn’t want to talk to Cassie. I figured I was your best shot.”
She tapped her fingers on the table, considering this. “You can’t prove that anything happened after they left the bar...”
“I can, Lor, because they didn’t leave the building,” Kyle said interrupting her. “So, you can either trust me that I wouldn’t shit you on something this important, or you can sign a confidentiality agreement and see it for yourself.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why do I have to sign anything?”
“Because there are other people in the film from the security cameras.” He removed a second envelope from his messenger bag, a smaller one, and let his tone soften. “It’s a loaded flash drive. You don’t have to watch it.”
Lauren’s gaze lingered on the envelope. “Innocent until proven guilty,” she said quietly.
“I thought you’d say that.”
She took a shaking breath, then another gulp of coffee. “Do you have a laptop with you?”
“A tablet. You can watch it here if you want.” At her nod of agreement, Kyle treated himself to another hit of Scotch.
She leaned across the table. “Did this happen on a Friday night?”
“Yes. The F5 Club is only open Friday and Saturday nights.”
Lauren faltered for only a moment, then she moved decisively. She pulled out the confidentiality agreement, read it twice, signed it in triplicate, and offered them to him.
“I already signed.”
She took one copy, folded it, and put it into her purse. She took a large sip of his Scotch, as smoothly as she’d once commandeered the lime from his tequila. “Bring it,” she said, beckoning impatiently with her fingers. “I need to know.”
Kyle booted up his tablet, slid the drive into the port, and opened the file. He turned the tablet so she could watch her husband with a blonde in the corridor to the restroom at F5, then sat back to watch her.
“She needs her roots done,” Lauren said softly.
“Ty said you’d say that.”
She didn’t reply, but then, Kyle knew that it got rapidly worse. His Scotch tasted sour, only because of the way Lauren paled and her lips almost disappeared. She watched it all, though. No flinching from a McKay. But she looked drained when she was done, as if all the life in her was gone.
No. All the hope in her was gone.
The sight nearly killed Kyle.
“He took off his wedding ring,” she said with no emotion at all.
“Yeah.” Kyle wished he hadn’t been the one to bring her the news, but on the other hand, he hadn’t wanted anyone else to do it. “I’m sorry.”
“You shouldn’t be,” she said, her eyes flashing briefly. She sat straighter and met his gaze as she handed back the tablet. “Not many people would have had the balls to tell me, let alone to take such a risk in being the bearer of bad news. My issue is with Mark and no one else.”
Kyle had suspected she’d say that, but it relieved him to hear her say it. “And what are you going to do?”
“I’m long past getting mad,” she said with a resignation that saddened him. Had their marriage really been that bad? “I think I’ll try getting even.”
“You need any help, just let me know.”
Lauren eyed him warily. “Filled with the milk of human kindness tonight?” she said in a teasing tone, the first hint that her usual spark was returning.
“He’s an idiot,” Kyle said and meant it.
A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “You’re just saying that.”
It would have been nice to reply that he never just said anything, but he did and Lor knew it. “Nope. Not this time.” He shook a finger at her. “You weren’t surprised.”
“Not really. It’s been shit for a while.”
“You’ve only been married for a while.”
“There is that.” Lauren frowned. “It only makes sense that he was getting some elsewhere, because there wasn’t any at home.”
“Sorry.”
“Me, too.” She met his gaze squarely, and he admired how direct she was. “You probably don’t think I’m going to thank you, but I will. Thanks for telling me, Kyle.”
“Like I said, anything I can do...”
“No, you’ve done plenty.”
“That sounds like an accusation,” he teased and to his delight, she smiled briefly.
She almost stood up, but then she sat down again. “You probably don’t know this, but that night we had?”
That night. Kyle nodded, his throat tight.
“It’s been a touchstone for me of how good things could be for two people. It’s given me strength and hope in some dark times. So, thanks for that, too.”
“‘A thing of beauty is a joy for ever,’” Kyle said, nodding in understanding.
“That sounds like a poem.”
“John Keats,” Kyle agreed. “‘A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness; but still will keep a bower quiet for us, and a sleep full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.’ Etc. Etc.” He smiled at her obvious surprise. “You think I’m uncultured?”
She considered him. “No, but I never associated you with poetry. Wait a minute. When did Keats live?”
“1795 to 1821.”
She wagged a finger at him. “Nineteenth Century English Lit. Ty took that course in his freshman year, supposedly as a breadth course but really to meet women.”
“Where did you think I met him? He was a finance major. I was in athletics.” He leaned across the table, determined to make her laugh. “We were the only two straight guys in that whole lecture hall. We owned that class, and we killed in our final presentation.”
“Really?” There was a sparkle in her eyes again, which encouraged him.
“Oh yeah. They were throwing panties at us for a month.” Kyle heaved a sigh, trying to make her laugh. “It was serious endurance training to make sure everyone got a turn in just eleven weeks. Big lecture hall.” He saluted her with his Scotch. “But I tried. I really tried.”
Lauren leaned across the table, not smiling at all. “And how did I fit into that schedule?” she asked, a challenge in her eyes.
Kyle sobered. “You ruined it,” he said with conviction. “It was my goal to stick with that plan for the duration, but you stole the spark.” Her surprise wasn’t the best response, but Kyle knew he deserved that. He’d cultivated a reputation and let others make their conclusions, but there was one thing he knew without doubt.
It was why he’d taken on this errand.
Maybe it was time to say it out loud.
He drained his Scotch and set down the glass on the table, his gaze unswerving from hers. “Because after you, Lor, there could be no other contenders. That’s why this pisses me off so much. You’re the most admirable and beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”
She opened her mouth to protest but he held up a finger to silence her. “I’m not shitting you. This
is the truth. That night was the very best night of my life, and you were the very best thing to ever happen to me.”
“But even after you knew who I was, you never got in touch.”
“Because it couldn’t work. Not for more than the time we had, so the memory had to be defended.”
She shook her head. “You don’t have to say this, Kyle...”
“It’s not just talk,” he said with impatience. “There have been women, lots of them—I’m nothing if not persistent—but it’s never ever been like that night. Not even close. And I know it never will be.”
“But...”
He checked but his glass was still empty. “But I’m not good enough for you, and I know it, but this bastard had the best and just threw it away. For cheap thrills. That just isn’t right.”
He stood up as she watched him, uncertainty in her eyes. “You need any help making Mark’s life miserable, you just let me know. That’s one thing I can do for you.” Before he could reconsider his offer, Kyle pulled out one of his cards, wrote his cell phone number on the back, and snapped it on the table in front of her. Lauren stared at it, as if it might bite.
As if he was shitting her.
As if everything he said was a lie.
That was the price of confessing your secrets to people. He offered the truth and she didn’t even believe him. He had a noble impulse and followed it, but no one believed it. Not even Lauren.
Especially Lauren.
Kyle marched to the bartender in annoyance and paid the bill. When he turned to leave, Lauren was already gone.
So was his card, but Kyle didn’t know whether that was a good thing or not.
* * *
Mr. Bernard considered himself to be one of the better doormen in Manhattan. He prided himself on understanding each and every one of the people living in what he called his building. He protected them. He defended them. He anticipated their needs and arranged matters for their convenience. He summoned taxis for them and stored parcels for them and accepted the delivery of their groceries and dry cleaning. It was his conviction that a truly excellent doorman should never be taken by surprise by any request, but should have a solution to every conundrum at his fingertips. After thirty years in his trade, Mr. Bernard had hundreds, if not thousands, of contacts in Manhattan to facilitate the resolution of every imaginable challenge or request.
Even though he served every resident of the building, Mr. Bernard had his favorites. Ms. Lauren McKay was one of them. She was lovely, of course, but it was more than her classic looks that had won his admiration. He had an older man’s fondness for certain traits in a woman, characteristics that created an allure of a most potent kind. Ms. McKay was polite, which counted for a great deal in Mr. Bernard’s world. She always wished him good morning and good night, and thanked him for any small service, even pressing the elevator button for her. She was always neatly dressed and feminine. Not garish. Elegant. She didn’t use coarse words, stay out late, or come home drunk. She was a small business owner, too, which Mr. Bernard admired. He had gone around the block one day to see her hair salon and when she noticed him, she had insisted upon giving him a complementary trim. She was gracious.
Yes, he liked Ms. McKay. He was well aware that she couldn’t have afforded her apartment, which was the smallest floor plan with a single bedroom, if not for the deposit made by her older brother, a Mr. Tyler McKay. Mr. Bernard approved of brothers who took care of their sisters and always gave Mr. McKay a warm welcome when he visited.
Unfortunately, Mr. Bernard’s admiration did not extend to Ms. McKay’s husband of the past three years. Mark Thompson was handsome and well-dressed, and he had a good job apparently, but there was an air about him that Mr. Bernard disliked. Mr. Thompson didn’t act like a gentleman. He didn’t hold doors open for his wife. He didn’t fetch the groceries or the parcels that had been delivered. He often came home late, and he frequently was not sober. He expected the world to revolve around him and clearly believed that rules didn’t apply to him. Mr. Bernard was convinced that Ms. McKay deserved better.
And so it was that when she returned home one Friday night, looking, it must be said, more fatigued that was usual, Mr. Bernard was quick to open the door for her. And when she asked for his help in accomplishing the task of eradicating Mr. Thompson from her apartment immediately, Mr. Bernard was more than delighted to put his array of contacts and connections at her service.
Within sixty minutes, the locks for Ms. McKay’s apartment had been changed and she had new keys. Further, everything Mr. Thompson had ever touched in that apartment had not just been removed but loaded into a cube van destined for a storage locker in a distant corner of New Jersey. Mr. Bernard was thrilled to be entrusted with possession of the key to that storage locker.
Mr. Bernard made a suggestion that Ms. McKay stay at her brother’s apartment for the night and she agreed immediately. By the time she had packed a bag and called her brother, Mr. Bernard ensured that there was a cab waiting at the curb.
To top it all with glory, she not only thanked him but kissed his cheek. It was enough to make his heart thunder with the knowledge of a job well done. He’d ensured that all was right in his corner of the universe.
Mr. Bernard stood at the door to the building, humming under his breath as he guarded the threshold. He tried to decide which of the anticipated events in the night ahead would give him the most pleasure and completely failed to choose a favorite.
Denying Mr. Thompson access to the building would be satisfying. There might be fisticuffs. Mr. Bernard spent his spare time in the gym, so he was ready for that.
Surrendering the note to Mr. Thompson from his wife, notifying him of their terminated relationship, could only be a pleasure.
Entrusting Mr. Thompson with the current location of his worldly goods promised to be gratifying as well. Mr. Bernard knew, of course, that the couple did not possess a vehicle.
Anticipation of all three in a single evening could only broaden Mr. Bernard’s smile.
It was going to be a very fine night.
One
A little more than three weeks after Kyle had given her the news, Lauren stood in Times Square, letting the city flow around her. For the better part of a month, she’d felt raw, but now she felt empty.
Desolate.
Lonely. Marriage had turned out to be an exercise in futility and she felt stupid for her optimism. It was bad enough to have wasted five years on a man who didn’t deserve her respect, and to have tied up her dreams with a husband who clearly didn’t share them or intend to fulfill them. It was a slice of hell to be alone and single again on a perfect summer evening in New York.
But the worst part was that she felt like an idiot for believing in happily-ever-after in the first place.
Weren’t dreams supposed to come true if you believed?
Lauren couldn’t stay in the apartment. She didn’t want to eat alone in a restaurant. She didn’t want a date, a walk, a coffee, or a gossip with a girlfriend. She’d thought she might go to a movie alone but hadn’t been able to choose from the ones playing at the multiplex. She didn’t want to spend the money on a show, given that she might not really see it.
She supposed it wasn’t an accident that she ended up standing across the square from the enormous poster of Kyle. Twenty stories high, he was more gorgeous than in real life. Lauren wouldn’t have believed it possible, but she’d checked on the billboard multiple times to be sure. He looked like the perennial surfer boy, his hair tousled and his skin wet, a laugh just beginning to curve his lips. Honestly, she could see the twinkle in his eyes even from here.
Get wet at F5.
Didn’t she wish.
Lauren remembered the weight of those hands on her skin as if it had been yesterday, not more than twelve years ago.
She thought again of the fury in Kyle’s words when he’d told her about Mark. She hadn’t believed that Kyle could be impassioned by much of anything. It seemed to be his personal policy
not to care about anything. She hadn’t thought he even remembered her much.
She wouldn’t think of that day at F5 when he’d turned away, as if she was a stranger. How could recalling that instant still make her heart break?
How could his recent confession be true? She’d replayed his words in her thoughts a thousand times since he’d spoken them.
That night was the very best night of my life, and you were the very best thing to ever happen to me.
She wanted to believe him, even though she knew better.
She wanted to call him.
Lauren knew what to expect. She knew what Kyle could give—and what he wouldn’t give. It would be sex. Good sex. Probably even great sex. But there wouldn’t be any dating or any romance. He wouldn’t engage emotionally. It wouldn’t be forever.
It would only be for now.
But the more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that might be enough.
Lauren pulled out the business card that she’d worn to softness and turned it over. She didn’t really need to look at the number. She’d memorized it weeks ago. She liked the way Kyle wrote. Every stroke of the pen was filled with his confidence and vigor.
She wanted some of that.
She needed some of that.
Lauren punched his number into her cellphone before she could change her mind, and her heart leaped when he answered.
“Kyle here. What can I do for you?”
“You didn’t look at who was calling,” Lauren accused and felt his shock when he recognized her voice.
He recovered well, of course. Kyle always did. “No. I would have answered faster if I had, Lor. Where are you? It sounds noisy.”
“Times Square.”
“Oh.” It had to be the first time ever that she’d heard Kyle at a loss for words. Of course, he knew where the billboard was. He must have been in that marketing meeting at F5. For all she knew, he’d suggested the location.
He’d almost certainly suggested the slogan.
Could he be embarrassed? It was an unlikely possibility.
“I’ve just been thinking that sometimes one thing of beauty isn’t quite enough to provide joy forever,” she said, her voice husky. “I’ve just been thinking that another one would be good.”
Addicted to Love Page 2